Chapter Summary: You have seven minutes to make love to Francis Bonnefoy. What could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: Sexual themes, coarse language, references to alcohol and sex, consent issues
~French Love Sucks~
Before I get to the part of the story where you’re in a cramped closet sucking face with Francis Bonnefoy, I should take the time to explain how you actually got there. Not that it’s even relevant-- you, the reader, are just here for the kissing part. Maybe sex. Is there sex in this? I’m not sure, but I still have to tell the exposition. It makes the story seem less like a cheap way to gain
notability in the reader insert world.
Anyways, this whole ordeal started at Mia’s party. Mia was well known around your school for being a general slut. One could not capture a proper mate without Mia stepping in to claim him or her as her own. Indeed, she has stolen several boy/girlfriends from a many unsuspecting girl/boy and added them to her infamous harem.
But that was not the reason why you were at her house, which just happened to be a giant mansion.
Mia and a rather handsome foreign exchange student named Francis Bonnefoy were the editors of the scandalous Slut Weekly.Their little hobby had expanded to a multi-million magazine publishing company that was ran completely in the empty classrooms of your school. You were one of their staff as the coffee girl. You had to make sure that Mia and Francis received their lattes at convenient and oddly strategic times of the day. You liked the job enough and you had to admit that it was nice being in a sort of club with the majority of your school’s foreign exchange students. Then again, all of them were kind of Mia’s boy/girlfriends, so it was a little weird, especially that Francis guy...
Yesterday Mia had declared that their successful year of gossip spreading was a wonderful cause to celebrate and “get down with your sexually-liberated selves.”
So you dressed in your favorite colored cocktail dress, wore your hair prettily, drove to her mansion, and promptly spent the next two hours sitting on the same couch, sipping the same red plastic cup of soda. Truth be told, you were not the best at parties. Being in large crowds made you uncomfortable. Plus Mia seemed to have invited people who were not part of the magazine staff to dance with her in the middle of her wood-floored living room, one that you swore was the size of a football field.
You sighed. You told yourself to stay for another hour, just to be polite, before bailing back to your house. Heck, if you can make it through the next five minutes, you’ll let yourself reread
Harry Potter again.
The minutes ticked by at a dreadfully slow pace-- the thump of the bass slowly time to the pace of molasses. You had no idea how someone managed to have not only enough space for a pretty rocking dance floor, but also neon flashing lights and a smoke machine. You crinkled your nose. You could do without the smoke; it left a funny stench in the air that made you feel light headed.
The music stopped. All of the teenagers groaned, loudly complaining about the loss of their Ke$ha and hit pop singer Natalya Alfroskaya. You glanced up from your soda, surprised when you saw Mia standing on what looked to be a stage. Odd, why didn’t you see that there before?
Supported at the waist by a blond girl and a brunet boy, both members of her harem, she grinned and held up a microphone to her sensual lips. “Alright everybody, I’m just going to stop the music for a moment as I make a few announcements,” she said, her dulcet voice stretching throughout the gray expanse of the mansion. “First off, I would like to congratulate everyone on the Slut Weekly staff for dedicating their time and effort to my petty little cause.” She pointed her mike to the blond girl. “Is that right, Alice?”
Alice Jansen nodded zealously, yanking it closer to her. “Yes. Lovi and I are very happy to be part of such a momentous movement.”
Lovino frowned, taking the mike for himself. He said, “I would like to clarify something real quickly.” He cleared his throat, taking a deep breath. Then: “Holy fuck to the no I am not--”
Mia slapped a hand over his mouth. “Quiet Lovi, we’ve already done that joke.” She graced her audience with another smile. “Anyways, thank you to my staff for being here. If you are not my staff, but are still here, then I thank you too. Especially for bringing the beer.”
“Lukas brought that,” Alice said.
She looked back at her girlfriend, scrunching her brows together. “Really? Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know,” Lovino said, taking his arm off her waist and crossing his arms instead. “Maybe because he likes beer?”
The girls nodded. “You may be right on that one,” Mia said. “Hold on--” She handed Alice her mike and cupped her hands over her mouth. “--Hey Lukas! Do you like beer?”
A man craned his neck so that his head stuck out above the crowd. “Hella!”
They nodded, seemingly accepting the fact. You rolled your eyes, already annoyed by the exchange. From your place on the couch, you rolled your eyes and placed your cup to your lips, muttering, “Get on with it.”
You did not mean to say it loudly. There just happened to be a lull in Mia’s wild exchange, letting the whole party overhear your comment. The crowd on the dance floor parted like the red sea, silently allowing Mia a full portrait of you. You blushed, hiding your face in your soda. Maybe bad lighting would make it hard for her to recognize you.
No such luck.
“Oh shit, ___ is right,” Mia said. You cringed, waiting for her to make a big deal out of it. Instead, you watched her sigh. “I’m sorry. I did have another purpose for being here and Lovi made me go off topic.”
“Don’t blame me--”
She slapped a hand over his mouth. “Anyways, I was going to bring up a game that we’re going to play. Any guesses to what it is?”
The crowd was silent.
“Is it a lifestyle of mutual killing?” Someone called out.
“Hilarious, but do I look like a psychopathic bear to you, Alfred?” She did not wait for him to reply. “We’re going to play Seven Minutes in Heaven,” Mia announced at last. Her guests buzzed with excitement, sharing loud whispers about who they want to kiss. “We’re going to do this the classy way where a guy is going to put an extremely identifiable item in a bag and the girls are going to pick one blindly.
They go into a closet, make out, and hopefully decide to practice safe sex afterwards. Any questions?”
A hand appeared from the crowd. “Does the sex have to be safe?”
“Yes. I don’t joke about STDs, like HIV or fetuses.”
Another hand appeared. “What if we’re a girl and we want to kiss another girl?”
“I will have a round afterwards for the lesbians. Any other questions?” When no one replied, Mia bowed and thanked everyone for their time. Then, she twirled like a ballerina and pranced off stage, Alice and Lovino following after her. The huge loud speakers started to blare, their music and the party resumed again.
You waited for someone to confront you for your sly comment, but you had long left their head. Again, you have crossed the chalk line of remembrance. You signed and sipped your soda. You shouldn’t have come here. You should have stayed home with the cat.
“Hey ___!” You jumped, surprised when you saw Mia, holding a filled pillowcase, jump into the cushion next to you. She leaned back, slithering her arm over the back of your cushion. The ends to her way too short dress edged up her thick thighs.
You nearly dropped your drink. “Mia, what are you--”
“Shut up ___ and let me speak.” You clamped your mouth shut, afraid for your life. You had no lovers for her to steal. What in the world was she planning on doing to you? Mia scratched her neck, looking rather sexy in the process. “I just want to say that I’m not mad at you for interrupting me. You were right, I was getting off topic.” She laughed. “But you know how it is with guys, right? You let them speak once and they think they’re the dominant sex. It always takes a little whipping to get them back in line.”
You stared at her.
Mia’s grin only grew. “And yes, I am implying that I am into BDSM. You want to do it sometime together?”
You took an awkward sip of your drink.
You may have been used to strange comments like these by now, but they still made you want to crawl into your skin. “Thanks, but no thanks,” you said, speaking slowly. You looked down at the pillowcase in her hands. You could tell from the shape that it was filled with things, but you had no idea what.
Mia saw the tracks of your gaze and turned her pout into another simper. “Right, I had a reason for being here with you,” she said, undoing the knot at the case’s end. “I figured that since you’re the only one who has the guts to interrupt me, you should get first dibs on Seven Minutes to Heaven.”
You strained a smile. “No thanks--”
She shoved the bag beneath your nose. “C’mon, stinky pants! We need to advance the plot!”
You rolled your eyes. “The people who decided to read past the first paragraph want to see me say no.”
“But those very same people want to see what would happen if you go into the closet.”
You had just about enough. You looked up at the ceiling, hoping that your frigid glare would be enough to slice apart the remains of the fourth wall. “Hey, author! Do I go into the closet or stay out here?”
Go into the closet, reader.
“Considering the character you’ve given me so far,” you replied, “I think it would be more in character for me to just sit here in self-loathing for the rest of the night.”
“We only did that part so that you can have the nerdy, not-like-other-girls character,” Mia said.
You aimed your glare at her. “Does it look like I give a fu-- why is my hand in the bag?”
The plot needed to move. Sorry, reader, but you’re going to get laid tonight.
“I don’t want to get laid!”
Joke’s on you because you pulled your hand out of the silk pillowcase, revealing a small packet the size of your palm. You raised your eyebrow, turning it delicately between your fingers. A wine red rose was printed on the side of the wrapping, along with three peculiar digits: X10L.
You held it close to your face. “What is this?” You asked.
Mia plucked the packet out of your hands. She ignored the annoyed glint in your eyes as she looked at the design. “Well, my dear virgin coffee girl, this is a condom. You use it when you don’t want to be preggers.” You felt like barfing. A condom? Weren’t people supposed to put in cute stuff like flowers or necklaces or Soviet propaganda? “Now the only problem is whose condom it is.” She looked at the digits. “Oh wait, I know.”
You swallowed, afraid.
Mia jabbed her finger into the foil. “Okay, so you know how clothing can be extra extra large? X-X-L? Well X-ten-L is like that, except there’s ten extras.”
You gasped. “People can be that big?”
A shake of the head. “No, not everyone. There is only one person in the whole world who has a penis that size--” A strike of thunder etched itself across the glass panes of the window while its deafening clap echoed across the room. “--Francis Bonnefoy.”
You were on your feet in an instant. “I’m outta here,” you said. “There’s no way something that size is going into me.”
Which was way too bad because you walked into the designated kissing closet anyways, even remembering to close the door behind yourself.
You crossed your arms over your chest, grumbling, “When I said I was going to be in Love Sucks, I did not consent to doing this.”
Which was way too bad because you then took the moment to remember the little details about Francis Bonnefoy. Believe it or not, you had a slight crush on him. You liked how he always had a good word for every person on the Slut Monthly team, even if it was just an extravagant thanks for the coffee. He lacked a harsh side, or, at least, you had never seen it. He held you carry cardboard trays of coffee and chatted with you as you brewed the day’s steaming pot. You liked him in a strange, distant way.
You knew he could be a bit of a perv. While he never said no to the offer of sex, he never broke anyone’s heart. He always made it clear from the start that he was not interested in a serious relationship. When he came into the dark space, he was going to ask if he could do more than kissing. You knew it. You did not want to feel his body loosen in disappointment when you told him no. What if Francis stopped talking to you once he figured out you did not want to have sex? No, you absolutely did not want that to happen.
Even if you did not want to, you unzipped the back of your dress and stepped out of it. “It’s really dumb for me to do this just because I want some guy to notice me,” you muttered, tossing it into the closet’s corner.
Does it look like I care?
Anyway, you leaned against the closer wall, waiting for Francis to make his entrance. The closet was dark, though the light that crept out from the crack beneath the door gave you enough light to see by. Someone had the courtesy to remove all of the pesky coats that could interfere with your face sucking. You tested out the space, stretching your arms out from your sides. The tips of your fingers brushed either wall on your sides.
The moment you let your arms fall to your sides, the door opened. Francis was a black silhouette against the light of the party. He stood at the doorway for a proud moment, spying you against the wall. A slick grin stretched across his face. “Good evening, my ___,” he greeted, giving a small bow. “I see that your are eager. “ You blushed. “You looked very beautiful in just your underwear.”
You placed your hands over your revealed skin. You were wearing your sexiest pair of lace underwear and bra. Not that you planned on doing something like this tonight. They were your pieces of underwear that would be completely concealed under your dress.
Francis noticed your shyness and hastily closed the door. “I’m sorry, ___. You probably don’t want the whole world to see you like this, right?”
You could only nod.
You felt rather than heard Francis move an inch closer to you. “How are you today?” he asked.
An ugly taste swelled in your mouth. You tried to swallow it away, but each attempt made the long moment of dead air between you and Francis longer. You took a deep breath. “I’m fine.” You sounded small.
“You don’t sound fine.”
You closed your eyes and took a deep breath. “Can we just get kissing now?”
Francis (that lovable idiot) hesitated. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asked.
You were this close to telling him no. You nearly opened your mouth and asked for him to back off and let you pull your dress back on. You were about to, but you found yourself doing the exact opposite.
You sprung onto Francis, smashing your lips against his. His lips tasted like sweet wine. At first he was stiff under your grasp, but when you did not flinch from the hand he placed on your side, he melted in the pleasure. He kissed you back, crossing his tongue over your lips. One hand was on your back, running up and down your spine. The other was on the side of your face, tilting your head to a more kissable angle.
Hand hand slipped beneath your bra strap as the kissing became more fierce. Francis bit your bottom lip lightly, just enough to make you gasp. He slipped his tongue into your mouth, moaning in the process. You were tempted to run your hands through his hair, but you kept them at your sides. You had no idea what to do with them. Francis, meanwhile, brought his hand down your spine, landing on the edge of your panties. He ran his finger along the waistband before slipping a single finger beneath it. He pulled his mouth away, panting. He looked at you with eyes half lidded with love and lust. “Can I go further?” he asked.
You wanted to go further. To be blunt, you wanted to have sex with this guy. You wanted him to rip away your panties and—
“Hold it!” You pushed Francis off of you, contorting your face into a sour look. “Hold it right there, author! Who said that I wanted to have sex with--” You pointed a sharp finger at the extremely confused blond. “-him?”
I do. So get started with the frickle frackle—
“Hold it!” Francis looked between you and the fourth wall, a flustered look in his eyes. They jumped back and forth before finally resting on you. “___, dear, would you please put your clothes back on?” he asked sweetly. You nodded and did so, listening with interest as he shot a glare to the author. “I would have you know, Miss Author, that I refuse to have sex with anyone who does do explicitly consent.”
“Am not.” Your dress safely zipped up, you felt a new wave of confidence. “Author, I gave you my resume when I signed up to be part of this story. Did you read it?”
I skimmed it, but what’s that got to do with anything?
You groaned. “I said I was asexual. I don’t feel the need to have sex with anyone!”
Francis gasped. “I am so sorry! If I had known...”
You waved him off. It wasn’t like you were repulsed by the idea of having sex, you just never felt the desire to. Being forced into the situation where you had to made you feel uncomfortable (like any other reasonable person in your situation, no matter the sexuality).
“It’s fine don’t worry about it.” You looked up at the ceiling. “So what are you doing to do about it, Author?”
Umm... OBLIGATORY SELF-INSERT!
The closer door crashed open, revealing Mia in all her glory. “Obligatory Self-Insert present!” she shouted. She jumped onto Francis, wrapping her arms around his neck. “Look, the only way we’re going to be able to end this fic is by having unnecessary sex.”
“But I don’t want to!” Francis replied.
Mia groaned. “Jesus Christ! Why not? You’ve had sex with me in the past.”
“I’ve learned the meaning of consent today and I feel the need to exert it,” France said haughtily.
“We can have sex later.”
Mia ran her hands down her face, looking ready to murder someone. “Sweet Nondenominational Messiah! The fic is a train wreck!”
“My father died in a train wreck,” you said.
Mia glared at you. “Hilarious.” Another idea dawn on her face. “I got it!” she exclaimed, perking back to her normal levels of excitement. She grabbed your shoulders, shaking you with each defining word. “___, you have to call me a slut.”
You looked at her as if she was crazy. With the amount she was rattling your brain, you could not help but to think that she was. “Why?”
“It’s the only way to end this.”
“But it’s mean,” you whined.
“But ___,” Mia whined back.
You released a long breath. There was no point in arguing it any longer. Every person in the fic wanted this to end as soon as possible. You shook your head and peeled her fingers away. “Fine then. Mia, you are a slut.”